Forever By My Side
by John Locke
Summary: Frodo Baggins, having returned just a mere couple of fortnights ago to Bag End, has locked himself away in more than one. It is up to Samwise to show him that the past, is just what it is, the past.


_A/N This is the begining of a new Hobbit story, which I do have plans for. It irks me that you can no longer indent so consider the boldings indents.... if you will. And I only wish I owned hobbits...._

**Small** beads of sweat were pooling in the crevices of concentrated skin, furrowed by muscles contracting out of anxiousness. Round windows strewn half open to let the dying breeze crawl pathetically through the spaces surrounded the small man wielding the greatest weapon of all, a quill. The feather moved as graceful as it could through the thick humid air, scratching out delicately chosen words onto the thick off-white parchment bound in a leather cover. Half used by now, there was more than enough words left to be chosen to be placed from mind unto parchment. Beads of sweat soon became small trickles that gravity slowly started to pull down the expanse of skin, through a patch of coarse hair into already squinting eyes. Long lashes being useless to the salt ridden excrement. Whatever sweat that avoided being pulled into large round eyes trekked down the small angular nose, forming larger droplets that fell onto parted lips. Instinctively a deft pink tongue darted out from parted lips to lick away any excess moisture with a look of distaste wrinkling hard lined cheeks.

**The **heat started to affect the movement of his hand more and more as the words became smudged with the straining effort to keep the words legible, and to keep himself cool. Long ebony locks started to stick to the moistened skin, the itching feeling one of many coursing through his mind at the moment. Disturbed enough by the unmoving hot air, the quill parted from short fingers and a navy ink spot emerged on the cream colored tablecloth beneath the pointed tip of the writing utensil. A scuffling noise permeated through the air as short wooden legs scraped against thick wooden floorboards beneath them. Callous soled feet padded across the creaking boards away from the useless windows, forgotten stains, and smudging words, letting the thick green painted door thud to a close behind him. Shutting off the stream of humid air into the round hallway, and the view of the asymmetrical room with a clothed table, large amour, and large bed, all washed in light tones of yellow and cream.

**Putting** one foot unsteadily in front of the other, salty sweat was falling unceremoniously into his eyes, and he had to stop every few feet to wipe his face with his dampened white handkerchief, but finding no relief. To his own better judgement, he wiped his brow on the longer sleeve of his over coat as he stepped into the dim light of the kitchen. He saw the low counter with just scrubbed pans, ones he well recognized and wanted to see up close. It had been long since he had seen Sam defend his life fiercely with this very pan. The only weapon that Sam had possessed was not this cast iron skillet, but his passion and dedication to him. The lines in his face relaxed into a wistful smile as his fingers slowly traced the bumps, and indents in the depth of the bottom. He had missed so much. His furious scribbles on his past adventures had taken up the past few weeks of his life. Not noticing the seasons changing from the mild blooming season, to the powerful heat of the final growing season. His frame was now more or less as gaunt as it was that final day. His finger that was cut off at the second knuckle brushed over a rather large rise in the iron, his reminder was always there, ironically as it was not there. He had missed many meals, but not the scents of such a familiar old love of his. He had missed all the townly news, and he had missed his friend.

**Forced** to leave his stuffy room for a good breath, he had achieved much more. Grabbing the pan's handle firmly in his hand, he held it close to his chest as his feet shuffled loudly with the groaning of the straining floorboards. Letting into his inner instincts, he made his way to the cold pantry, to fish out something to cool him down. Not seeing another occupant of the house, he shrugged off the feeling he had been harboring for a while, of being alone as he let the door open after one good tug. Finding a piece of sweet bread wrapped in cloth, he pulled a piece off and slowly bit into it as he left the cold pantry, the cool air drying some beads of sweat on his face. After the door closed with a muffled thud, he leant his back against the door, still clutching the pan to his chest tightly as he heard his voice being shouted through the house.

**"Mr. Frodo?** Where have you gone to? Rosie, have you seen 'im? I was just bringing him some supper...." The franticness of his younger friends voice elicited a small chuckle from the depths of his throat. He did not recognize the sound as it was a fleeting thought to even have been happy. Sighing he brought himself up right and shuffled off back towards the kitchen where he saw the young pair conversing almost worried like. It was as if they had been married already for a good number of years, but their courtship had really only just begun.

**"I** must apologize for wandering off without a sound.... It is terribly stuffy in my room." His voice was shaky from disuse, but was not ridden with the unbearable pain as it did not a few days ago. Catching a stolen glance from the pair, his neck bet so his eyes were now focused on the skillet pressed tight against his overcoat. "No worries Mr. Frodo, I was just bringing you some supper"

**"Or** so I heard." He said with an arch of his eyebrow. He had been cooped up far too long inside of his own head, he decided, when he saw a glimmer of surprise in his companions eyes. "But you were not bringing me a thing, but trying to find yourself some answers." Ones he had no knowledge of at the moment. "But no worries, as you put it Sam. I'm just going to go back to my room if I am disrupting you. No, no, don't give me that look Rosie…"

**He** was having a real conversation now, and it felt as if the heat had lessened, and a breath of fresh air was coursing through him as he watch silently as Rosie playfully glared at him. Bringing the bread back up to his lips, he felt them stretch to a point of pain when they cracked from dryness. Ignoring the tangy taste of blood, he let the cool, crumbling bread almost melt on his tongue before chewing it softly. Chewing it intently, he watched as Rosie swept out of the room, her long skirt brushing along the floor, a spring in her step as the door closed behind her. His eyes sprang from the dark floor up to his now approaching friend. Seemingly nervous, Sam was holding his hands deep in his pockets. "How is the book coming along sir? I mean, how far along are you with it?" A hopeful spark was dancing fully in Sam's eyes, and Frodo felt a pang of guilt pulling on the core of his heart strings. His smile slowly fading into a frown, his hair was tossed about a bit as his head shook.

**"Have** I become that bad Sam? Did I become so engrossed in myself," he wished badly now, that a mug of frosty ale was taking residence in his hand instead of the bread, for at least his throat would not be contorting so. "that I haven't even been letting you see it? After all, it is your story too Sam. I couldn't have done it without you… I mean, just look at me… I'm holding onto your pan, the one you used in the Mines of Moria…"

**Giving** the pan a small swing, he watched Sam silently laugh. " You were great you know." His eyes slowly slid into their mist as memories fogged his mind, like any other day and disappointment was starting to creep up onto Samwise's face. "I don't know any other half-ling who could swing a skillet like you can." A gripping hand was felt on his shoulder, fingers tightening in a small squeeze.

**"Frodo**..." It was clear that Sam was struggling to pull himself mentally up to the plateau he set Frodo onto. "You know I was damn well happy to come with you, and that I could never forget any of the times we spent together. Sad or not. I also think that you should know that I understand what the...ring..." Sam seemed nervous just to mention the epitome of evil, and his chest rose indignantly as he continued, "did to you. It's more than quite understandable for you to keep to yourself, even if it does worry me so. It in fact, even makes me feel important, to have to worry about some one so dear to me." Sam's face scrunched in distaste for a second before light-heartedly adding, "That's exactly what the Gaffer said to me before we left."

**He** knew Sam's laugh, and it was like a wave of joy washing through, and over him. He even lent his own laugh to the harmony of joy. "Oh Sam, you need not fret over me. And I thank you kindly for your concern, and all the time you spent worrying on me." As he was about to continue speaking, he felt a gentle nudge in the ribs.

**"Of** course I didn't spend my time worrying Sir, I spent my time caring for you just like Gandalf first told me to. But it's more than that. Don't friends care about each other so? It is only necessary for one in my mind to stand up for a friend, to make sure that they are well and need nothing more than they have. It's my right and duty as your friend, Frodo Baggins, to fret over you. I earned it rightfully."

**The **words struck a particular string in the depths of his heart, but the tone got to his heart and brain. A lonely tear was formed, and deformed as it fell down his cheek, losing mass as it stained a single track down to his jaw bone. "Don't you dare start on crying Mr. Frodo, it'll only get me blubbering as well." Sam's voice hung in the air with a quiet, nervous chuckle. A soft touch of a cool cloth graced his cheek where the lone tear fell, wiping away the trace of emotion. And at that point in time, when he opened his eyes to see the teary eyes of Samwise standing before him yielding a white linen handkerchief trying to battle away his tears. He fully realized that it mattered not what happened in the past, it could not change. It mattered most that he still had Samwise, he always did have him by his side and prayed he always would.


End file.
